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The House That Listens
horror◐ Teen5 contributors · 4 paragraphs deep
Tucked in the folder was a faded photo of the house being built. A man stood out front holding a brass cone, like an old hearing trumpet. On the back someone had written: "He buried his listening machine under the floor so it would never go deaf." My stomach dropped. The thing wasn't the house. It was under it.
We pried up the floorboards in the basement and found it: the brass machine, half-buried in dirt, slowly turning toward the sound of our shovels. I dropped the shovel. "It hears us digging," I whispered. Mara was already pouring the gasoline. "Then let's give it one last thing to hear," she said, and struck the match.
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